Unexpected
by missbegonia
Summary: It's very simple math, really. Take Ryan Atwood, who's got it rough down in Chino this summer. Add Summer Roberts, recently ditched by Cohen, mad as hell and lonely to boot. Mix. Stir. The result? The unexpected...
1. Default Chapter

**Unexpected**

Part One

Summer Roberts is pissed.

Not pissed like when you're twelve, and bitchy, and everything and everyone gets on your nerves, and you're convinced the world hates you and God has your name with an asterisk next to it on his shit list. Not even post-break-up pissed, or pissed because you're stressed, or pissed because your boyfriend is acting like a dick.

Summer's pissed because she's sixteen, and she's wearing an unbelievably short skirt, and she got her legs waxed so they're all smooth and shiny, and she has the best Manolos on ever, with spike heels and sexy straps and everything. Summer is pissed because she looks like ten million bucks, and it's a Saturday night in the middle of July and she's alone.

Un-_fucking_-believable.

She doesn't even know how she got into this situation. Two months ago she had a boyfriend, and okay, maybe he wasn't so much hot as he was funny and dorky, but he was here, at least. And he worshipped her. She had a best friend, too, who was drunk more often than not, but even in the worst of times Marissa was a good shopping partner; you can never underestimate the virtues of having a good shopping partner. Marissa's gone AWOL lately, though, probably steeping herself in intense self-pity or screwing around to get Chino out of her head for a little while. Even stupid Chino is gone to…Chino, of course. Summer giggles a little at that thought, though it's not really that funny. Chino is in Chino because of his sort-of-girlfriend who is very much pregnant, and that's kind of sad. Summer doesn't really like Chino that much – and it doesn't help that her shithead of a boyfriend took off in his dumb boat immediately after Chino left town on his current white knight quest – but she does feel kind of bad for him and Theresa. Though she'd never tell him that, of course.

Summer thinks she's an independent woman with her shit together, but truthfully, she knows she isn't dealing well with any of this at all. In certain moments of lonely insanity, she even misses seeing her stepmonster passed out on the couch (she's at some glorified detox center in Malibu for a month). And that's just beyond pathetic.

So Summer climbs into her car and slips off her heels and drives barefoot to the beach. She parks the car and walks and walks and walks until there are no drunken college kids anywhere nearby and it's quiet and there's just the sound of the waves splashing against the shore to keep her company. She collapses onto a patch of sand and pulls her knees into her chest and before she knows what's happening she starts to cry.

At first she's not sure why she's crying, but as the tears slide down her cheeks and drip onto her tank top, she realizes it's because she wants something, anything, in her life right now to make sense, to be how it's supposed to be. Nothing's right, and it's like some vast conspiracy to leave her feeling scared and misunderstood. Summer's not really an angsty kind of gal; she's always been more of a pragmatist, and she knows what she wants and how to get it. Or at least she used to.

"Summer?"

She freaks a little then, hearing that voice come out of the darkness, and then she turns to see Ryan standing there wearing jeans and his standard wifebeater and looking puzzled and tired. "What are you doing here?" she says rudely.

"I just…I kind of missed…" Ryan stops, pushing his hands awkwardly into his pockets.

Ryan's not so good with words; this Summer knows. She used to think it was annoying, since she herself is kind of a talker, but then she spent a lot of time around Cohen and came to appreciate the value of silence.

The thing about Ryan that Summer has come to realize from her limited experience with him is this: he only talks when he has something to say.

She has an appreciation for that total lack of pretension, of filler.

"So are you back in Newport for good?" she asks, and realizes she kind of cares, which is surprising and not surprising at the same time. Another one of the many things in her life right now that don't make a lick of sense.

"I don't know…I got in my car tonight and started driving and ended up here, so…" Ryan moves a little closer and sits down next to her in the sand. "This is where I am."

"Funny," Summer says, "that's what happened to me too."

Their eyes meet for a second and Summer realizes she's hardly ever been this close to Ryan – there's always been Cohen or Marissa in between. She never realized his eyes are the blue of summer sky with little flecks of green. She's always known Ryan was

hot – ever since she saw him through a semi-drunken haze at that party when he first arrived in Newport – but she's never seen him as beautiful, too.

She shakes her head, rapidly, as if to rid herself of these weird thoughts. She's just lonely. It's just the extended periods of solitude talking.

"You want to get something to eat or something?" Ryan asks.

Summer realizes she is kind of hungry. She's been so caught up in her emotional cocktail of self-pity and anxiety that she's been ignoring all her physical needs.

"Sure," she says.

Ryan stands and offers her his hand – such a gentleman, how could she forget that about him? And he smiles at her and says, "I like your shoes."

For some reason this makes her feel warm all over, and happy, too. "Thanks," she says, and she can't believe it but Chino's making her blush.

It's not perfect or even ideal, but at least now she's dressed up and she's got a place to go.

The air in the restaurant is cool, almost chilly, and when they sit down at a table Summer feels her skin prickling as her body adjusts to the rapid temperature change. She knows her hair is curling at the ends, too, on account of the humidity, and this wouldn't bother her so much if she hadn't expended so much time and product in getting her waves to smooth down exactly the way she wanted them. The way she figures it, if life is going to suck, at the very least she should have good hair.

Ryan is watching her carefully in that freaky Chino way of his, and she feels suddenly self-conscious, as if her skirt is torn in a place it shouldn't be or her make-up is streaked and running.

"How do you walk in shoes like that?" he asks, and Summer laughs, partly because of the question and partly because of his delivery. He sounds like he actually cares, like he's curious and that her answer will solve some great mystery he's been pondering for years.

"Lots of practice," she replies easily, propping one leg up next to him and admiring the sleek curve of her heels. "Why, Chino? You thinking of purchasing some of these? Need some lessons on how to do the catwalk?"

Ryan smirks at her.

"I have to warn you," she continues, "that Manolos are kind of on the pricey side. The Cohens may think it's a little excessive. Plus I'm not sure they make these in your size."

Ryan considers this, and some emotion flickers across his face too fast for Summer to interpret it. It's almost as if he's deciding how to take that comment, whether he should be angry because Summer might be taking a dig at the way he relies on the Cohens' charity. But then he laughs a little, saying, "You're probably right. They're not really my style."

They lapse into silence then, and it's weird but it doesn't feel awkward. Summer thinks it feels so much better to sit there in silence with Ryan than it does to lounge on her couch in her living room, the buzz from the television her only company. Even if he's not saying anything, not even attempting to entertain her, she's glad he's there. His presence alone is oddly comforting.

"So how is…everything?" she asks finally. Ryan looks up from the menu, and Summer realizes this is a more difficult question than she initially thought. Because implied in that question is ten thousand others, like _how is Theresa and the baby that might or might not be yours and what do you do down in Chino and what will you do for money and what are your plans and why are you here, anyway?_ But Summer doesn't know how to ask those questions, not yet. She has no idea where his boundaries are or what idle comment might cause him to snap closed like the buckle on a smooth leather briefcase.

"'S'alright," he mutters, but Summer sees the flash of pain in his eyes before he glances back down at the menu and she knows he's lying, and not very well. For someone who is as cool and composed as Ryan usually is, he's pretty horrible at deception. Even Seth, with his thousands of nervous tics and his predisposition to nonsensical babble, can put up a better façade, can make you think he means what he doesn't.

"You sure?" Summer asks gently, and without thinking she slides her hand across the table and clasps his arm. He looks down and then back up at her, his eyes widening imperceptibly.

"What about you?" he throws back, fixing her with a stare she knows he wants to be intimidating. "You didn't seem so happy out there on the beach. I could have sworn you were – "

" – Crying?" Summer snaps. "Yeah, I was, Chino. Because my life, unlike yours, apparently, isn't all wine and roses at the moment."

Ryan is silent, his lips curving downward into a frown, and Summer feels strangely vindicated, like it's some victory to get him to express something, anything at all, other than stoic indifference.

She could lie to herself and say she's just now beginning to be fascinated with Ryan, now that he's shown up here and won't tell her what he's coming from and where he's going to. But the truth is she's always been fascinated by him; he's such a mystery, so clouded in ambiguity and quiet nonchalance. He's so unlike Seth, who she's always been able to read like an open book.

Seth could never hide his feelings for her – she knew he was hot for her the second he approached her at that party. He reminded her of an over-eager puppy dog, dying for attention and affection. It might have been endearing if he hadn't been so desperate. At the time Summer had wanted someone who had it together, who looked good and who everyone liked and who would make her feel like the queen she most certainly is. Now she feels ashamed when she thinks about it. Seth deserved better than that.

Summer supposes that's why she's found herself here. Alone.

When she first saw Ryan at that party, he was instantly magnetic with his bedroom eyes and uncertain past and complete disregard for Newport social conventions. Ryan's mystery was the most enticing thing about him – more even than his obviously toned body and deep blue eyes. Of course Summer is all about the pretty, but she's smart enough to appreciate when someone goes deeper than that. She knows what it's like to be perceived as just a pretty face, and she's tired of people assuming she's only interested in the latest colors of nail polish and doing the sex quizzes in _Cosmo._

Not that she isn't interested in these things, but. Well. There's more there, is all she's saying.

It's been almost a year since that party, and she can't help but feel like she isn't any closer to penetrating Ryan's sturdy emotional walls, to knowing what makes him tick. She thinks that though Marissa would never admit it, she doesn't know that much about him either; even after dating him for months and using him to help her maneuver around countless emotional potholes, she's still just as clueless, just as much in the dark.

"I'm sorry," Ryan says softly, and Summer becomes conscious that she still has her hand on his arm, her fingernails pressing into his skin. She pulls her hand away, putting it in her lap. "I'm sorry you're unhappy and I'm sorry if I seemed like I was making fun of you for it."

Summer nods, not knowing what to say. What do you say when someone apologizes? Thank you? Why isn't there a socially accepted response for that?

The waitress comes then to take their order, temporarily saving her from having to respond. When she leaves, Ryan says, "You want to talk about it?"

Summer thinks about the bizarreness of this situation, about her sitting here in a freezing cold restaurant in a mini-skirt and heels with Ryan _Atwood,_ with _Chino_, of all people. She's here with Ryan and Seth's on a boat somewhere being a little bitch and _yes,_ goddammit, she does want to talk about it.

"It's partly Cohen," she says. "But it's more than that."

Ryan nods.

"Like I don't understand why this summer has to suck so much," she says. "Last year was so insane and I finally felt like we were all becoming friends and things were kinda good, and then all of a sudden everyone's gone, and I've got nothing to do, and I'm just sitting around the house thinking about everything and…" Summer pauses to catch her breath, knowing she's babbling, but Ryan is just sitting there, looking at her calmly, no judgment. She understands why Seth and Ryan are such good friends – only Chino could put up with Cohen's terminal diarrhea-of-the-mouth.

"I don't know," she says softly. "It's all fucked up, is what it is."

A corner of Ryan's mouth turns up in a half-smile, and he says, "You know something, Summer? I think you just might be right." He pauses, sipping at his soda, and then delivers a perfectly timed, "But there is a first time for everything, right?"

Summer gives a squeak of offended surprise, and smacks him on the arm, hard. He feigns hurt, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Chino," she tells him, "just remember that you've seen the length of both my heels and my nails."

He puts up his hands in mock surrender, and he's still grinning, but _dammit_, it's kind of cute. The bastard.

Their food comes and they eat mostly in silence, interrupted by occasional small talk and Ryan teasing her repeatedly for the dainty way she eats her burger, wiping her mouth and hands every few seconds with a napkin to keep from getting all sticky. The check comes and Summer takes out her wallet to pay with her credit card, but Ryan snatches it away, saying, "I got it." She almost objects but then she can see this means something to him, that it's something he needs to do, so she doesn't push it.

He walks her out to her car and they stand there for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. "Thank you for dinner," she says. "This was nice."

"Yeah," he says, and his eyes look almost black in the low light. "Maybe we can…do this again sometime?"

"Sure," she says, and she feels confused, because she has no idea what this is or where it's headed but she knows she wants it.

He hands her a slip of paper he tore off the check. "Here's my cell number. You can call me. I'm working construction during the day but…"

"Right," Summer says, and when she takes the paper from him his fingers brush hers and she feels like she's been static shocked. She wants to blame it on the lack of physical contact she's had lately, but. Well.

She knows it's something more.

She's in her car cruising down the highway before she realized that he didn't – not once – answer a single one of her questions.

Summer's closet is mocking her.

She's convinced of this. It's just sitting there, doors gaping wide like a giant laughing mouth. It's smirking. It's sneering. It's freaking her out.

How is it possible that she has a thousand outfits and nothing to wear?

This is all fucking Chino's fault. If he hadn't called her up this afternoon, all casual-like, and suggested they get together and hang, she wouldn't have to be devoting this kind of time to wardrobe choices. She could just stay in the ratty cut-offs and ugly t-shirt she'd been lounging in all day, since she had nothing to do and no one to see.

But now Chino's coming over, and ever since he complimented her on her trendy sandals, she's tempted to wear the most glamorous, sensual ensemble she owns

in hopes that he might like it, might toss an approving remark her way. She knows this is insane – what does she care what he thinks? – but she feels it nonetheless, and nothing she's tried on fits the bill.

She can't wear strappy sandals and a shimmery top that makes her boobs look big – they're watching TV and eating popcorn, not going clubbing in L.A. But she doesn't want to look like a total slob, either, like she rolled out of bed to see him. He's driven

all the way up from Chino even though he knows it's a Thursday and she told him they've got to watch _The Valley_ – that's crazy devotion right there.

It's been three weeks since he found her crying on the beach, and they've gotten together five times – twice she even stopped by during his lunch break and brought him take-out. They talk on the phone almost every night and even though they just talk about boring, everyday friend-y kind of things, she finds herself looking forward to it. It's always the best part of her day.

She has no idea what is going on, and Ryan never tells her _anything_, never offers any excuses or explanations as to why he's so eager to spend time with her. Or maybe "eager" isn't the right word. Ryan doesn't really do eager. He's the master of "aloof." When she chatters on about how she hopes it's okay to do this and she doesn't want to take him away from more important things, he just waits patiently for her to finish and then says, "It's okay."

Summer always felt like Cohen was the king of TMI, but Ryan is even more ridiculous. He's like one big complicated secret wrapped up in a shell of ambiguity and covered in a shellac of mystery just for good measure. She hates it. She hates him! But she

thinks about him all the time anyway, like he's some suspense novel she just can't stop reading.

And there's her closet. Still mocking.

She yanks out a red stretchy top that she knows compliments her skin tone and some black pants that do her ass a few favors. This seems kind of okay – a little on the dressy side, but hopefully he'll be too busy admiring the complete package to question it.

She puts on some silver hoop earrings and a touch of make-up. She's just finishing her lipstick when there's a knock on the door.

"For the last time, I don't have your Valium!" she shouts. The stepmonster has been particularly persistent today, probably because whatever combination of tranquilizers she's on is giving her memory issues.

The door cracks open a little, and Summer is about to shout something very rude when she sees that it's Chino. "Don't need any, I don't think," he says. "Not yet, anyway. We haven't started watching _The Valley_."

Summer purses her lips and rolls her eyes at him, feigning offense. Then she takes a second to covertly check him out – best friend of her ex or not, Ryan is worth a lingering look or two. All the construction work he's been doing has made his biceps even tighter,

and he's kind of tan from spending so much time outside, bringing out the bright blue of his eyes. Today he's sporting a little stubble, a collared blue shirt over a wifebeater, open a few buttons, and jeans that fit…well. Summer has a thing about boys who wear pants that fit. They make her happy. Especially when they have an ass like Ryan's.

"I pass inspection?" Ryan asks, amused, and Summer blushes, realizing she's been caught staring.

"Barely," she throws back, and he chuckles.

"Good to know," he says. "You look very nice."

Hmm. Very nice. Well, it's something.

It occurs to Summer how weird it is that she's become so obsessed with what Ryan thinks of her looks. Is she on the market for a boyfriend already? And if so, wouldn't Chino be pretty much the worst possible candidate ever, being as he's so intimately connected with the guy she's still not sure she's over?

Summer pushes these thoughts aside, deciding that she's entitled to appreciate the aesthetically pleasing, no strings attached. Especially after all the shit she's been through lately.

"So…" he says a little awkwardly, and Summer thinks she better snap out of it, because she's being the worst hostess ever.

"C'mon. Sit down," she says, gesturing towards the bed. Yeah, she'd planned for them to hang out in the living room – a little more neutral territory – but hey, plans change. Especially since the stepmonster has been kind of aggressive today. If she saw Ryan

she might pounce.

"How's work?" she asks. She always feels weird asking him about work, since she obviously doesn't have to, and it's almost like she's shining a magnifying glass on their differences, making them impossible to ignore.

He shrugs. "It's alright. Good money. Theresa really appreciates it. She's working at a bakery but she can't make much money at that…she wanted to wait tables but it's really hard on her back…" He trails off. Summer feels a tinge of fear, wondering if Ryan will wise up to how superficial and silly she is compared to he and Theresa – they have real problems, adult problems, worries much more important than what to wear or watch on TV.

"Are you and Theresa…going to get married?" Summer asks suddenly. She knows it's a strange question to ask, but she's so curious, and she's already figured out that the only way to get Ryan to give up information is to put him on the spot. If he even does then.

Ryan traces a pattern on the bedspread, saying softly, "Probably not. We're not really…marriage material. I mean, we're not in love. Right now it actually feels

more platonic than it ever has before…weird, huh?" He laughs a bit, looking up at her sadly. His laughter sounds hollow. Summer feels sad, and she wants to hug him but doesn't know how he'd react, if he'll just curl into himself and they'll be right back where they started.

"I can kind of understand," Summer says. "You guys are really good friends and you love each other but you obviously didn't plan this, so…it must be stressful."

Ryan nods, saying nothing.

"Does Theresa mind you coming here?" Summer asks. It's a question she's been gearing herself up to ask ever since they had dinner that night he found her on the beach, but somehow she could never find the words.

"No," Ryan says. His eyes are a dark, thoughtful cerulean. "Or if she does, she doesn't tell me."

"I just don't want to get…in between anything…" Summer stutters, and thinks how it's ironic that Chino, a man of such few words, can make her lose her power of speech. It's contagious, she guesses.

"You're not," he says firmly.

There's a pause while Summer considers her next move, and then Ryan surprises her by saying, "Do you think about Seth much?"

This catches Summer off guard, and she feels exposed, knowing her hurt is written all over her face. Cohen may be a cowardly little bitch for taking off the way he did, but she still has those momentary flashes of affection when she thinks about his neurotic chatter, the way he stumbles over his words because he's got so much to say, the tremble he gets in his voice when he's talking about serious stuff, about loving her.

_It's always been you._

Yeah, she thinks about him. Not that he deserves it.

"Sometimes," she says softly.

"For the record, I have no idea why he left," Ryan says. "I think he was crazy to leave you here, alone."

Summer catches his eye, wondering if Ryan realizes how intimate that sounds, how…protective. He shifts his gaze from hers to the material of a pillow nearby and she can see him drawing inward – he's hit that point of overexposure, the point when he backpedals to preserve his façade. "Wake up, Chino," she says harshly. "He left because you did."

Ryan's eyes widen slightly, and he raises an eyebrow in disbelief. Summer is afraid he's going to deny it, tell her she's being ridiculous, that Seth would never do such a rash, impetuous thing because of him. But instead he deadpans, "What a _dumbass._"

Summer laughs. Ryan isn't exactly a comical guy, but when he's funny he's _damn_ funny.

The tension broken, Summer flicks on the TV and invites him to lie back on her fluffy pink pillows. The picturesque ocean views of _The Valley _fill the screen, and she quickly becomes absorbed in the intense personal struggles of the overwrought, over-privileged teenagers she adores so much. The show is in re-runs now, but she doesn't mind watching them again; it's kind of reassuring knowing how everything works out.

Especially since her own life provides no such safety net.

When the show is over Ryan makes a move as if to leave, but Summer's not having it – he can't drive all the way over here just to stay for one lousy hour of entertainment. She pops in a DVD of _The Italian Job, _figuring it's a good compromise – she likes Marky Mark, and it has lots of cars driving very fast, so she figures Ryan must like it too. Then she goes downstairs to pop some popcorn since they're both badly in need of a snack.

She comes back upstairs with a bowl of popcorn to find Ryan sitting on her bed looking very comfy, his brow creased in concentration as he flips channels. She is momentarily distracted by the thought that it really is a shame that she has a guy like Ryan in her bed and she isn't doing…other things with him.

Then Ryan sees her standing in the doorway and tosses her this easy half-smile that makes her heart palpitate and quips, "What, you're a vampire now? You want me to invite you in?"

She tosses a few pieces of popcorn at him in response, which he picks off the bed and eats, watching her carefully, laughter dancing in his eyes. She tries not to concentrate on his lips, but it's very, very hard.

_Oh my god, _she thinks. _I'm totally crushing on Chino._

She doesn't want to be crushing on Chino, because it makes everything so fucking complicated, and it's not like she needs any more of that in her life at the moment.

Maybe it's just physical – he's damn fine and he's here, in her room, and this makes her think naughty thoughts. Or maybe she's just bored, and lonely, and she's tired of being the girl who got left behind.

He's still smiling at her, a little, and Summer thinks maybe that's all that matters. Maybe she just wants someone to need her. And right now Chino needs something to smile about.

She settles onto the bed and flicks on the DVD and they both become mesmerized by the flickering light of the TV. Summer doesn't even realize she's fallen asleep until she slips back into consciousness, dimly aware of a buzzing sound near her ear. She opens her eyes and realizes it's her cell phone, which she left on vibrate.

And then she realizes where she's fallen asleep.

Wow. Chino makes a pretty comfy pillow, if a little on the firm side.

His chest is rising and falling with his steady breathing, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He looks exhausted and comfortable and completely gorgeous.

She leans over to pick up her phone, worried that it might wake him up, and flips it open to see who has decided to interrupt her beauty sleep.

It's _Coop, _of course. Who else would it be? And what fabulous timing she has, as usual.

Summer stares at the phone for a second, her thoughts reeling a mile a minute. Then she makes a very important and very quick decision.

She presses a button and turns off the phone, then dumps it into a drawer in her nightstand, silencing the annoying dull whirring sound.

She half-remembers Ryan saying something about how he has to get up super-early tomorrow to go to work. Her alarm clock reads 12:52 am. If she wakes him up now he'll have to drive back to Chino and it'll take awhile and he'll lose more sleep. _That would be stupid_, she tells herself.

Plus he looks so perfect lying there, like he's supposed to be there, like it's where he belongs. And he's warm and solid and pretty much the best teddy bear ever.

She curls her body into his, pillowing her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

And she doesn't wake him up.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

When Summer wakes up the next morning, he's gone.

Her first reaction is inexplicable sadness – a dull, cold pain that slides up her spine and pushes tears into the corners of her eyes. Then she feels angry – how _dare _he just ditch her like she's some kind of chaste one night stand? And then she feel ashamed – she pushed this too far, she can tell, and Chino bolted. He may be different from other guys, but he knows the unspoken rules of courtship: dinner and a movie possibly innocent. Sleeping together? Not so much.

There's a ringing sound, shrill and insistent, and Summer feels around blindly for the phone. Maybe it'll be a telemarketer and she can subject him to her rage.

"Summer, don't hang up."

Her breath catches in her throat. _Cohen_.

Of course.

"What do you want?" she snaps.

"Just hear me out, okay?"

"I have nothing to say to you, Cohen," she hisses.

"I know you hate me right now, Summer, and I know I totally deserve it, but I just need you to know that I didn't leave because of you. I mean, yeah, I kind of freaked about the whole relationship thing, but I freak about everything, right? I'm just an emotional landmine, like, always ready to go off and throw debris everywhere, and – "

"If you don't get to your goddamn point, _I'm _going to explode," Summer cuts him off.

"I just want things to be okay between us," Seth says, his voice sounding muffled and far away. "I don't know if I'm coming back and I don't like leaving all this bad karma – "

"Well, deal, Cohen, because it's not going away," Summer says, her tone hostile and chilly. "Don't call me again."

She hangs up.

This is going to be a shitty, shitty, _shitty_ fucking day.

She mopes for a few minutes, thumbing through her closet, rifling through her drawers, looking longingly at her piles of lingerie. Fucking Cohen. Fucking Chino. They don't know what they're missing.

_Except Cohen_, Summer thinks, smug. _He knows._

Then her eyes catch on something unfamiliar on her dresser. It's black, a strip of material, and –

_Omigod._

Summer picks it up, enjoying the smooth texture of the leather in her palm.

Chino left his wrist cuff.

And under it, written on a slip of paper in messy, chicken scratch boy handwriting, are two words:

_Thank you_.

Summer smiles.

Summer can be kind of a bitch. She knows this.

So she feels a little bad about the whole Cohen phone call thing. Maybe she was too harsh. But she feels so fucked up about all of that, so confused and frightened and _furious_. She's fucked up about being fucked over. So she told him to fuck off.

And she doesn't know what to feel about the fact that she really, really wants Ryan to call. Now.

Ryan is an odd choice of therapist, she has to admit, especially about her Cohen issues. After all, Ryan isn't exactly objective about the whole situation. It would be totally unrealistic, not to mention unfair, to expect him to just sit back and act as a sounding board for her messy neuroses.

Summer knows that she'd never really fallen for someone until she fell for Cohen, and when she fell, she fell _hard_. He was sweet and funny and smart and such an unexpected source of comfort and support, and he was so _different _from all the other guys she knew, the water polo jocks only interested in getting wasted or getting in her pants. Yeah, Cohen was a dork and weird and slightly crazy, but he really cared about her. Cared about her for being _her_, not just because she was hot and had a nice body and big boobs and wore short skirts.

And she thought she understood him, too, understood something fundamental about how his mind works. She thought that she could help him, could provide some kind of emotional scaffolding when his whole world seemed to be coming down around him.

But when she got that note from Cohen, his scribbles about how he was leaving and he was sorry but it was something he had to do, she realized something very important.

The only person who has ever understood Seth is Ryan.

Summer used to think Cohen could love her in a way no one else could, that he could fill that hole she's always had inside. And he did love her – probably still does.

But he loves Ryan more.

All this to say that she knows she's walking a very fine line. There's an odd sort of tug-of-war going on between the three of them at the moment; the further she pushes Cohen away, the closer she grows to Ryan. And as much as she enjoys Ryan's company, she knows that at some point she's going to have to make a choice.

Between letting go and holding on.

Her cell phone rings then, a tinkly version of Oasis' "Champagne Supernova." _Goddamit, _but she needs to change that ringtone.

"Hello?" she says, her voice much more chipper than she feels.

"Summer, hey." It's Ryan. He sounds winded, like he's been running. "I'm sorry about this morning…I mean, just leaving like that. I had to get to work."

"That's okay. I understand," she says, and she does.

"Did you get the…"

"Yeah," Summer says, a smile pushing up the corner of her mouth. "And thank _you_."

"You're welcome." There's some shuffling on the line and something clatters. "Shit. Um, I wanted to tell you…I'm kind of going out of town this weekend."

"Really?" Summer asks. Her stomach hurts. She doesn't know where he's going, or why, but she doesn't want him to leave.

"Yeah, I'm going to Portland….to try to get Seth to come home."

"You're…" Summer processes this. She doesn't know what to say.

"Sandy came to see me this morning, gave me a plane ticket, and I wasn't going to go, but now I think…" He sighs. "I think I should go. I mean, I feel bad about what happened and Sandy and Kirsten are really upset about this, so…anything I can do, right?"

"Right," Summer says, her voice a little hoarse.

_And you want him home, too_, she wants to say. But if Ryan doesn't want to tell her that, then she's not going to push him.

"So I guess I'll see you when I get back?" he says, his voice trembling slightly, and Summer knows he's nervous.

Maybe because he knows this could be a sort of goodbye.

"Yeah, sounds good!" she chirps, feeling like a bird with a broken wing.

There's a pause, and she knows he wants to say something else, but this is Chino, after all.

Not so much with the talking.

"So…later, then," he says.

"Later," she whispers.

And her phone clicks and he's gone.

That night she tries to occupy herself with the first season DVD of _The Valley, _but it doesn't work very well. She keeps switching from episode to episode – certain scenes remind her of Chino or Cohen or Coop, even, and escapism only works when you preserve that distance between reality and fiction. At one point she finds herself drifting in and out of a dreamy state remembering last night, the way he smiled at her, his blue eyes wide and bright. The way they laughed together. His warmth beneath her as she snuggled against him. The sweetness of his face as he slept, immune to the world for a few precious hours.

_Man, I've got it bad, _she thinks.

In so many different ways.

It's so weird to think about when she first met Chino, when she saw him at that party before the fashion show. She'd told Coop that he was hot because he was the brooding, wounded type and she could save him. To her Ryan looked like _the _bad boy, a living breathing James Dean, and even before she saw him in a wifebeater she was already imagining him in denim and leather, looking twelve different kinds of sexy. So what she's feeling now isn't really new – it's just a re-emergence of what's been there all along.

Because back then, Marissa – with her wide, innocent eyes and sweet smile – dug her claws into him first.

And lord, did she leave scars.

The way Chino reacts to feminine touch now, you'd think he'd sworn women off forever. He's cursed with a dangerous attraction to girls bent on self-destruction, girls who he can protect and defend and worship. Summer doesn't know the true source of this – maybe it's because he's used to playing the parent, the person who cleans up the mess, the last loyal survivor left to scrape the person he loves off the pavement when her collision course with reality comes to its bitter conclusion.

The problem with this kind of hero complex is that there are some people you can't save.

Summer's been friends with Marissa for years, and she knows she's one of them.

All these years Chino's been playing superhero, but nobody's ever really tried to save him.

Summer would really like to try.

Even if right now she doesn't know exactly what that means.

At five o'clock on Sunday, Summer gets an unexpected phone call.

"Hello?"

At first there's only silence and the sound of breathing, which seriously squicks her out. "Who is this?" she demands.

"Summer, it's me."

Ryan sounds so tired, like he hasn't slept in days. His voice has a desperate edge to it that makes Summer want to cry. "What's wrong?" she asks.

"Theresa…she…um…lost the baby."

Summer feels her stomach drop to her knees. "Omigod, Ryan, I'm so sorry."

"I just…" Ryan's breath hitches in his throat.

"You don't have to talk about it, sweetheart," Summer tells him. "It's okay."

"I'm coming home tomorrow," he says. "Seth…wants to stay in Portland. He's not coming back."

Summer feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her. She doesn't know what to think, whether she should be happy Ryan is coming back without Seth. Even if it will mean less emotional turmoil for her, it'll also mean Ryan won't have Seth to help him

through this. The last thing Summer wants is to be a substitute for Seth. She's already been a substitute for Ryan, and it did wonders for her self-esteem.

"I'm…sorry to hear that," Summer says finally.

"You know, Summer," Ryan says, "it's okay if you're not."

Summer feels a wave of affection for him crash over her then, she's so grateful for his understanding.

"I have to go," he says. "I'm sorry to cut this so short, but Seth's calling me to come to dinner."

"Okay," she says softly.

"I'll see you soon," he says, then adds, "I look forward to it."

This time Summer has a big smile on her face when she gets off the phone.

Come the first day of school, Summer puts on a cute pair of sandals, a tank top and one of her beloved minis and decides she's turning over a new leaf. No more angst and ex-boyfriend drama. She's just going to have fun and do well and be happy. That's it.

Everything goes fairly well – her classes don't look impossible, she sees a few cute new boys in the halls, and she manages to avoid seeing Coop at all, a virtual miracle. Now that Seth and Ryan are gone the school does feel oddly empty, but that'll change soon enough. There are always new people. And Summer knows how to make friends, after all.

She's driving home when her cell rings. Weird. It's the Cohens' number. Why would they be…

"Summer!" Ryan says when she answers it. "How are you?"

"I'm…good, Chino. Are you at the Cohens'? I thought– "

"I'm back in Newport," he says. "And this time for good."

Summer feels a twinge of excitement thrill through her. "You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"I'm coming over," she says. "I'm in the neighborhood anyway. Are you going to come back to Harbor, too?"

"I'm already back," he says. "I was surprised I didn't see you today."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" she teases. He snorts. "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, there's something else – "

"Tell me when I get there," she says, and hangs up.

When she gets to the Cohen house she feels like skipping around back to the poolhouse, she's so happy. What a _dork_ she's become hanging out with Chino.

She finds him lounging on the bed in the poolhouse wearing jeans and a white undershirt and looking good, as usual. When he looks up and his eyes meet hers,

she can see they're red-rimmed, and she is reminded instantly of the hell he's been through these last few days.

She collapses onto the bed and immediately throws her arms around him, hugging him close, not caring if this is too much. He needs this, whether he knows it or not, and lord knows she needs it too.

"What was that for?" he asks breathlessly when they break apart.

"I'm glad you're back," she says. "And I'm so sorry about everything that's happened," She runs her hand through his dirty blond hair, not even thinking about it, it's so natural. "Is there anything I can do?"

In that second she becomes conscious of just how close they are to each other – it's one of those movie freeze frame moments where if either of them leans forward they'll be kissing, and _fuck_, people aren't supposed to have eyes that color in real life. Chino is no Monet – he is just as beautiful up close as he is from far away.

"I…um…" Ryan mumbles, and she realizes he's looking at her lips.

"I brought you something," she says, pulling away slightly to rummage through her purse, effectively breaking the tension for the moment. She holds out his wrist cuff to him, and he gives her a small, almost secretive smile.

"You can keep it, you know," he says.

"But it looks better on you," she says. _Like everything does_, she's tempted to say, but doesn't.

She takes his arm and wraps the cuff around his wrist, fastening the snaps. When she finishes her hand brushes against the pulse point on his wrist and she can't help but notice his sharp intake of breath.

Summer looks up into his eyes, and she sees they've darkened to an almost navy blue. She's never seen him look at her like that, so it's either a trick of the light or…

Suddenly his lips are pressed against hers, and she doesn't know if she kissed him or vice versa, but either way it's what she wants. It's delicate, gentle, tentative at first, but then he increases the pressure and licks her lips, his tongue parting them as she willingly lets him inside. Good lord, but he feels good. He threads his fingers through her hair and his other hand caresses her cheek and she's so caught up she feels like she might faint. It wouldn't be so different to be unconscious; she already feels  
like she's dreaming.

"Ryan, I thought maybe we could – "

They jump apart as if the fire between them magically changed to ice, but it's too late.

"Oh my god," Seth says.

All the color drains from Seth's face, and he just stands there, open-mouthed, gesturing with his hands but unable to form a coherent sentence. Then he turns on his heel and walks away.

Ryan looks devastated, his face etched with guilt and worry. His hand is on the small of her back where he left it, but he doesn't even seem conscious of it. "I have to – " he starts.

"I know," Summer says, cutting him off. She doesn't want him to explain himself. She knows the drill. Seth freaks. Ryan goes.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. He gets up, murmuring, "You can stay if you want to…"

"Do you want me to?" she asks. Right now she has to be direct, brutal. Because otherwise Ryan is going to walk out of the that door and out of her life and she'll be back where she started – alone, two times left behind.

His answer is immediate, no room for hesitation or doubt. "Yes."

Then he holds out his hand to help her up, and Summer flashes back to that night on the beach, the night he admired her shoes and gave no answers. It seems like so long ago, but it's been barely a month. She can't wrap her head around everything that's happened since then, all that intensity bundled into the sultry humidity of long summer days.

She takes his hand, savoring the feeling of his palm against hers, cool with sweat and a little rough and chapped from working construction. As he pulls her to her feet her eyes meet his for a split second and she can see it all written there, the words he can't say.

The words Seth couldn't find.

He leaves, and she traces her eyes on the floor of the poolhouse so she doesn't have to watch him go. She waits a minute and then she follows him, because she needs to know. She knows if she stays there, imagining the millions of way this conversation could go, she'll go insane.

She hears voices coming from the Cohen kitchen and she ducks into a shadow, pressing against the wall next to the sliding door that opens into the dining room. She can still smell Ryan on her skin, sandalwood and sweat and something slightly sweet. She lets out a shaky breath.

"Seth, look, I can explain – "

"Oh, no, you don't need to explain anything. I should have knocked. You'd think I would have learned that by now. Don't let me interrupt." Seth's voice is pure ice.

"It's not like that, Seth, and you know it."

"So what's it like, exactly, huh? I mean, dude, I know you said on the plane that you and Summer became friends, but did I miss the part where you said 'with benefits'?"

"No, I – "

"Because you know, I thought, hey, cool, my two favorite people like each other now, that's kinda nice. We can all hang out and it'll be fun, and not awkward or anything. But it doesn't work that way if you're fucking around with her, Ryan."

The swearing sounds strange coming from Seth, out of place. Summer realizes that she's never heard him this angry before. But then again, they didn't have many serious fights when they were together, perhaps one of the signs that their relationship wasn't as solid as she'd thought. Sure, the couple that plays together stays together, but if you don't fight, something isn't right.

"We're not fucking around. This is – I mean – today was the first time. We kissed. That's it. This isn't some kind of conspiracy, okay?" Ryan's voice is low and calm, but there's an edge there, a don't-push-me-because-I'll-fuck-you-up tinge to it. Summer knows Ryan would never hurt Seth, but she can tell he wants to yell, to release some of that frustration that's been building.

"It feels like a conspiracy. It feels like you're lying to me. Like you've been lying all this time. And you let me believe that things would be okay when I came home, that maybe I could make things better with her? That everything could go back to the way it was, right? That – "

"I never said that, Seth. Never."

There's a pause while Seth considers this. "I just don't know what to do."

A moment of silence passes, and Summer is so tempted to look inside to try to read their body language, to see if they've stepped closer to one another, or if, as she imagines, they're standing apart, Seth leaning against the counter, hunched over, and Ryan standing rigid and straight, arms crossed, closed off.

Ryan breaks the silence. "It just happened."

_It just happened._

Summer remembers hamburgers and sticky napkins, blue eyes and strong hands, easy breathing and laughter. She remembers phone conversations that went on for hours, ordering sandwiches to take him for lunch, the way he greeted her with a half-smile and a playfully raised eyebrow. She remembers obsessing over clothing and making him popcorn and falling asleep in his arms and waking up happy.

Summer usually isn't the type of girl to let things "just happen" to her. She likes precision and clean lines and straightforwardness and control. But if this summer has been about anything, it's been about shifting, changing, transforming.

Ryan happened. And Summer has no regrets.

She opens the sliding door.

Ryan and Seth start at the sudden noise. She walks into the kitchen and finds herself standing between them, but it's a little too symbolic for her taste, so she sits down at the kitchen table instead, refusing to meet either of their eyes. "Cohen," she says slowly, "don't blame Ryan for this. Because anything that happened is my fault, too."

Seth's eyes flit between the two of them and she knows he's flashing back to earlier, reliving that moment of horrible realization.

"So how did it happen, exactly?" Seth asks. "Was it an instant connection? Electricity and butterflies?" His tone is half sarcastic, half serious.

"Shoes," Summer says.

"The who in the what now?" Seth exclaims.

"It started with shoes," she says, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

She's not quite prepared for the vulnerability there, or the dull ache it produces in her stomach. She's not prepared to feel sorry for him.

To still love him.

"This sounds kinky, dude," Seth says. "I'm not sure I want to hear it." He's trying to joke, to lighten the mood and diffuse the tension, but even he doesn't find this funny.

"I said I liked her shoes," Ryan says, and Summer turns toward him. She's surprised he remembered, but then she realizes Ryan remembers everything. A blessing and a curse, she guesses. Whatever.

"Wow." Seth is tracing patterns on the kitchen counter. "I didn't think people actually used the 'Nice shoes, wanna fuck" line anymore."

Summer giggles, because it's funny to imagine Ryan saying that.

Ryan is not amused. "I just complimented her shoes. I wasn't trying to get into her pants."

"Yet," Seth inserts.

"Look, man – " Ryan starts.

"Cohen," Summer snaps, "don't talk about what you don't understand. And don't act so fucking self-righteous when _you're _the one who left _me, _who ditched me for no good reason to sail off on your little boat to who the hell knows where."

Summer is tired. She's tired of listening, she's tired of talking, but most of all she's tired of being so fucking nice.

Summer Roberts doesn't smile when she doesn't mean it. She doesn't make small talk.

Summer Roberts kicks ass and takes names.

Claws? Check. Attitude? Present and accounted for. Bitch switch? Definitely flipped.

Seth blanches, then heat infuses his cheeks. "I – "

"Maybe you forgot, but we _broke up_," she says. "And it wasn't exactly my choice."

"But I thought – " Seth stutters.

"—that I'd wait for you?" Summer finishes.

Seth looks down at his shoes, and Summer knows she's right.

Ryan looks uncomfortable, like he's walked into a room where people are having a really intense conversation and doesn't know how to manuever his way out of an

awkward social situation without stepping on anyone's toes.

"I…" Seth wants to say something, but the words just aren't coming. It's a modern miracle! Cohen is completely tongue-tied.

"Yes?" Summer says, her tone that of an impatient teacher prompting a student to _answer the damn question already_.

"I have to go," Seth says, so quickly that his words blend together. Summer understands him – she's proficient in Cohenese – and she doesn't attempt a response. She's done enough. He's got enough to think about.

He needs to be alone.

Summer can understand that. Sometimes she likes to be alone, too. Like when she's had a shitty day and all she wants to do is dissolve in a vanilla-scented bubble bath and surround herself with scented candles and forget about all the heinousness that exists outside of her bathroom door. Or when her stepmonster drinks herself into a stupor and makes a point of enumerating in great detail all the things that are wrong with Summer's appearance and attitude. Then she likes to lock herself in her room and cry and put David Gray on the stereo and write long, nasty letters she'll never send. For a second she considers that maybe this is one of those times, that maybe she needs a little solo meditation time to work all this out, to know what to do next.

But then she looks up and sees Ryan, and he looks so _lost_, his eyes dull and tired, his hair messy from where she ran her hands through it. He's got her touch written all over her, still, and this strikes her as both incredibly sexy and so sad it's almost tragic.

"Chino – " she says, but he turns and pushes his way out of the sliding door into the cooling air of sunset. She follows, her heeled sandals clicking on the patio.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and she doesn't either. The silence isn't awkward, it's soothing. He produces a pack of cigarettes from somewhere, taps them against his thigh and takes one out.

"I didn't know you smoke," Summer says.

He shrugs. "Only sometimes."

He lights one, leans back against the wall and inhales deeply, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

"Can I have one?" she asks, and Ryan looks at her, quirking an eyebrow. He moves to take one out of the pack, then thinks better of it and hands her his own. She puts it in between her lips – it's still moist from his – and inhales. He's holding her gaze the whole time and it's one of the most erotic things she's ever experienced. She knows all that nonsense about smoking being an oral fixation, but she never quite believed it until now.

She's the first one to break in their staring contest, looking out at the ocean where the sun is sinking beneath the horizon, smearing the sky with pink and gold. She takes small, delicate puffs on the cigarette, almost like she's sipping from it. She tries to concentrate on the beauty of the landscape and not on Ryan's presence next to her, the heat from his body and the tightness of his jeans and the curve of his shoulders and the texture of his lips –

All a sudden the cigarette is gone, and Ryan is staring at her, holding it between his fingers, challenging her with his eyes. "You _son _of a – "

But then his lips replace the cigarette, soft and insistent and warm. He pushes her up against the wall, one hand encircling her waist, the other in her hair. Ryan has a thing for hair, Summer's noticed, but she's not complaining. He slips his tongue between her lips and she bites him, gently, on his lower lip. His hand splays over her lower back and slides under the flimsy material of her tank top and electricity climbs up her spine, setting each vertebrae on fire. She runs her fingers over the surface of his shirt, her nails scraping over his nipples, and she can hear his breath hitch. He breaks the kiss to trail tiny kisses along her neckline, licking the hollow of her throat, and she's glad he's bracing her against the wall because otherwise she knows she would collapse onto the ground. She twists her fingers in his hair and lets out a quiet moan before pulling him up to kiss her again.

In those few beautiful moments, Ryan is an oasis in the middle of the desert and she's dying of thirst. He smells like summer and tastes like honeysuckle and she wishes she could distill his essence and bottle it and carry it with her all the time so they'd never have to be apart. It's exactly the kind of romance novel b.s. she always said she'd never buy into, but here she is, quivering and wilting in the arms of her very own hard-bodied Don Juan.

It doesn't make sense, none of it, especially when he pulls away slightly, whispers, "We have to stop," and kisses her on her nose.

"I don't want to – " she says petulantly, but he shakes his head.

"Later," he murmurs against her cheek, and she shivers against him, cold but not cold at all.

They move apart, and Ryan stuffs his hands into his pockets. She adjusts her shirt and slips her heel back into her shoe, then stares up at him defiantly, five foot four inches of pure menace. "This isn't over, Chino," she tells him.

He just smiles, his eyes crinkling a little at the edges.

Still nothing makes sense, and there's the Cohen problem and the impending Coop disaster and a new school year filled with some major drama-trauma to look forward to.

But when she goes to bed that night she falls asleep instantly and dreams of Chino, wearing jeans and leather, smoking a cigarette and looking at her with eyes filled with promise.

The End


End file.
